Remembering the Fellowship
by Crawler
Summary: Just a little Legolas musing, more warnings inside. Very slight hint of AU, takes place not long after Boromir's death.


This is an AU, but not an AU AU, more like an Alternate Ending AU. It's a deathfic, but it didn't break my wimpy betareader's heart.  She called herself the wimp, not me.  I've gotten glowing reviews: It's so beautiful and sad...I see nothing wrong. It's tender, descriptive and well thought out. Very symbolic.;  It was LOVELY; So sad and bittersweet...

Please don't let the deathfic warning scare you off.

Takes place a little ways after the end of the Fellowship of the Ring movie, not long into The Two Towers.

I do not own these characters, but I love this old story.

**_Remembering the Fellowship_**

Eight locks of hair. Eight fellowship members.  
  
Legolas blinked back a tear, fingering the long gray strands he had cut from Gandalf's head. He set it down on a rock, coiling it around the four curly locks from the hobbits. Aragorn's, Boromir's, and Gimli's all rested right outside of Gandalf's. Legolas let his fingers trail over them before drawing back.  
  
One by one the fellowship had crumbled. Boromir had been the first to fall, shot down by an orc. Legolas picked up his lock, watching it twist in the wind. A sun-kissed brown, with a slight wave in it, Boromir's hair was clean and cared for, like Boromir had been. The hair was strong like Boromir too, but Legolas pulled a strand free and cut it with his knife. Even Boromir fell. Releasing the tie holding the strands together, Legolas let the hair blow free, watching as it vanished into the trees.  
  
Two curly red locks drew Legolas' attention next. Merry and Pippin, the cheerful ones. They had fallen together, again brought down by the cruelty of orcs. Legolas shuddered, remembering watching them fall. The orcs had given them weapons and pitted them against each other. If they refused or tried to turn away, they were beaten by the overwhelming amounts of orcs. The two hobbits remained faithful to each other until the very end, never striking out against the other. Curly and thick, the hobbits' curls showed an extraordinary amount of resilience, yet they too broke under Legolas' blade. Legolas blew the hair from his hand. Merry and Pippin were no more.  
   
Gandalf's long strands were the next to be picked up. Silvery from age, they shone like an elf's. Legolas smiled. Gandalf had a worn beauty to him, an inner glow that resembled Legolas' own kind.  Gandalf did not fall to orcs. He had the misfortune of fighting a balrog. The snap of that demon's whip would always be seared into Legolas' mind. With a shudder, Legolas dropped most of Gandalf's hair into the fire, letting one strand float off to join the others.  
  
Frodo and Sam might still be alive. They had split off from the rest of the fellowship right before the orcs attacked. Legolas picked up the two curls. Frodo's was dark, symbolic of the evilness of the ring. Sam's was lighter then most hobbits', as though trying to balance Frodo's dark influence. Legolas twisted the curls around, watching as they wrapped around each other. The two hobbits were never apart. With a frown, Legolas tossed the curls into a bowl of some orcish draught. The acidic liquid dissolved the hair instantly, save for two strands which floated away freely. Frodo and Sam would not last in Mordor.  
  
Aragorn and Gimli both had long hair. One dark, one red. Legolas picked them up in separate hands, talking to them softly. "We did not see it, did we my friends? We did not know of the ambush, the attack. How should we have known it was but a trap, with Merry and Pippin as bait?" With a harsh laugh, he threw them into the draught, but they broke apart before landing and floated off safely. Legolas watched them, curiously, before closing his eyes and leaning back against the tree. He raised his knife and cut a strand of his own hair, letting it drift away.  
  
"It seems I am the last to fall, and fall I will. The orcs have won, though we killed them all. I cannot continue living. My physical wounds are not nearly enough to kill me. It is the eight knives in my heart that drain my life. I never thought I would die like this, alone, but I suppose no one thinks they would die how they do. My time has come…and I…shall…join…you…"  
  
Legolas slumped to the side, his face frozen in death. Nine strands of hair twisted around each other in the air above him, floating off to the heavens beyond.

  
  
~Crawler  
  



End file.
